


Always Be My Baby

by bookinit



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Babies, Domestic Fluff, Everyone Is Alive, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Kid Fic, M/M, Magical Realism, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Canon Fix-It, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Richie Tozier, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookinit/pseuds/bookinit
Summary: Less than three minutes later, Richie’s pulling up in his driveway at breakneck speed, clambering out of the driver’s seat, and sprinting up to Eddie’s porch. His eyes lock on the baby carriage, and then drift over to Eddie.Eddie, feeling incredibly stupid and still maddeningly hungover, bursts into tears.“Oh, hey, hey, it’s all right,” Richie immediately starts, sitting beside Eddie and stroking his back. Eddie lays his head on Richie’s shoulder and feels Richie twist to press a kiss to the top of his head. A platonic kiss, he’s sure. Two dudes, co-parenting a magical baby while one dude has a mental breakdown on his porch. Just an average Saturday.***Featuring: magical babies, platonic co-parenting, and some very Soft boys.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 56
Kudos: 173





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So, I was reading a Hannibal fic today (I know, I know), and I came across this incredible fic called “with a crown of stars” by thehoyden. If you’re into Hannibal, go check it out, it’s incredible! But basically the premise is that you can wish a baby out of the sky if two people both wish hard enough. And literally not even two sentences into reading it I couldn’t stop thinking about what a great Reddie fic it would make. I’m not sure if anyone’s done this before, but I just really wanted to do my own take on it! Enjoy :)
> 
> -H

“Mommy, tell me the story again,” Eddie begs, sitting on his mother’s lap. She rocks him back and forth gently, tilting her head up to share a smile with her husband. She cards her hand through her son’s hair, her polished wedding ring gleaming in the low light of Eddie’s nursery. 

“What do you say, Eddie-bear?” she prompts gently. She’s been trying to instill manners in her son, is determined that he will grow up to be polite and respectful, just like his father. 

Eddie turns big brown eyes on her, squirming slightly in anticipation. “Please, mommy?” 

She laughs softly. “Of course, baby.” Her husband comes up behind her shoulder, reaching down to take her hand, fingers intertwining as she begins the story. 

“Well, honey, a few years ago, your daddy and I  _ really _ wanted a baby. We prayed and prayed for a really long time.” She pauses for a moment, a far-away look in her eyes. “But even though we tried really hard, it just wasn’t happening.” Her husband squeezes her hand tightly, continuing the story for her.

“Your mom and I decided that we were going to wish for a baby. So we put our heads together, and we wished  _ really _ hard. We wished for a little baby that we could love lots and lots.” He pauses, ruffling Eddie’s hair with his free hand. Eddie giggles, still captivated by the story. 

“And then one day, kiddo, you showed up on our doorstep.” Eddie’s parents share a sweet smile, their eyes full of love for their son as they recall the moment. 

“And you were just  _ perfect,”  _ Eddie’s mom continues, hugging him closer to her chest. “Our little gift from the universe.” Eddie’s father nods in agreement, placing a gentle hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Our sweet Eddie-bear,” he murmurs lowly. 

And on that note, Eddie closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep, thanking the universe for giving him such a great family.

***

_ “No, _ Myra, I’m not going to change my mind. Just sign the damn papers already.” Eddie rubs his temples, fighting the urge to take several pills to ease his oncoming migraine. 

“But  _ Eddie,” _ Myra warbles, crocodile tears in full effect, “You’re so  _ fragile,  _ how will you  _ survive _ without me?” 

Eddie grits his teeth and curses every decision that ever led him to this moment. “I’ll survive the same way I did for the thirty years before I met you.” He then immediately regrets that sentence, because he knows exactly how Myra will respond. 

“But Eddie, your mother took  _ such  _ good care of you before we met. And do you know what she said to me before she passed? Do you know?” 

Eddie, in fact,  _ did _ know, because Myra brought it up about three times per day. “Myra—” he starts. 

“She  _ said,” _ Myra interrupts loudly, “that I needed to take good care of you.” She pauses for a loud, dramatic sniffle. “And I  _ have,  _ Eddie! I really have.”

“Myra,” Eddie says steadily, “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’m a grown man.” He hadn’t needed his mother to take care of him when he was younger, either — at least not the type of care she gave him — but he bites his tongue. He can only handle one argument at a time. 

“But  _ Eddie,  _ you got hurt when I wasn’t there! You were in the  _ hospital!  _ Are you even taking your medications? You sound like you might have a cold coming on, you know.” She sounds so much like Eddie’s mother that he could scream. As it is, he takes a deep breath in, counts to four, and then releases it. It’s a trick he learned from his new therapist, to help with his anxiety. 

“Myra, I’ll discuss that with my doctor. Not you. Do you understand?” He lets out another breath, suddenly very tired. Myra starts on another rant, but he isn’t listening. 

“Look, Myra, it’s not your job to take care of me. Go live your life. We aren’t good for each other, and I think you know that.” Myra isn’t a bad person, really — just a person who’s had bad things happen to her. Like his mom. But Eddie’s mom died alone and unloved, twisted by her grief for her late husband and the circumstances the world threw at her. Eddie doesn’t want the same for Myra. 

A note of desperation creeps into Myra’s voice, the first real emotion she’s shown. “We could have a baby,” she says quietly. “We could have a family, Eddie.”

Eddie knows it’s a tough topic for her — Myra had always brought up wanting children, and Eddie had always shot her down. He couldn’t bear bringing a child into the world where Eddie and Myra were its parents. It would only result in disaster, and quite possibly a worse childhood than Eddie himself had.

And, well. “Myra, I’m gay,” he tells her, not for the first time. She hadn’t taken it well any of the times he told her. At first she hadn’t believed him, and once she got over that, she thought he was leaving her for someone else (which, well, he kind of  _ was,  _ but she didn’t need to know that). 

“Well, maybe if you don’t want to have a child the  _ traditional _ way,” she ventures, “we could wish for it?” She’s pleading, now, desperate to keep a hold on him. 

_ “No,  _ Myra. Absolutely not.” He swallows hard. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about having kids. Once he gets over the general terror that comes with infections and dirt and  _ germs,  _ he honestly thinks kids are kind of cute. Stan and Patty had just had their first son (a natural birth), and Eddie adored him more than anything in the world. He loved being his uncle, and he loved the joy that Stan and Patty exuded from being his parents. But if he was ever going to be a parent, there was only one person he wanted to do it with. And it sure as hell wasn’t Myra, so that was that. 

“Myra, I’m sure you’ll be a great mom, someday,” (after she got extensive therapy, that was), “but not with me. Okay?” He taps his fingers on his leg restlessly. “Sign the papers. Please.”

Myra lets out a quiet sigh. “Okay, Eddie.” 

Eddie tries not to let out an audible victory cry, but it’s a close thing. 

***

By the time Eddie makes it to Ben’s house, he’s almost half an hour late. It makes him anxious, because he’s never late to anything if he can help it, but Myra had kept him on the phone for  _ so _ long. He fiddles with the tub of spaghetti he had brought  _ (not _ because he wanted Richie to make dumb jokes about it, but he was asked to bring a dish and it was all he knew how to cook, okay) and knocks on the door. 

Almost immediately, the door’s yanked open by Bev, who’s smiling ear-to-ear. “Eddie!” she exclaims happily, taking his tupperware out of his arms, “we’ve been waiting for you!” To back this up, a chorus of  _ Eddie's _ sound from inside the house, sounding happy and just a little bit drunk. Eddie shrugs off his coat and steps inside, relaxing a little in the warmth. 

“Not too long, I hope,” Eddie says apologetically, “I was on the phone with Myra, she wouldn’t let me go.” At this, Bev raises her eyebrows, and a litany of heads snap towards him. Everyone’s been following the Eddie-Myra divorce like it’s the hottest gossip of the year. 

“And?” Bev prompts hopefully. Eddie grins back at her. 

“As of tonight, I’m a free man!” He says happily. Immediately he’s met with enthused cheering, including one particularly joyful  _ “Fuck  _ yeah!” from Richie. Bev wraps him in a hug, and his arms wrap around her easily. 

“Oh, I’m so proud of you, honey,” she murmurs. He squeezes her a little tighter.

“You too, Bev.” She’d gotten divorced just the week before, and was now living happily with Ben and their dog. Eddie suspected a baby soon on the way, whether wished or natural, but he wasn’t going to ask anything about it. 

Bev releases him and turns to set his spaghetti on the kitchen counter. “You know, someone else had the same idea,” she chuckles, eyeing an identical tupperware by the stove. 

Richie gasps dramatically. “Eddie Spaghetti!” He presses a hand to his forehead, fake-swooning. “Oh, be still my beating heart.” He straightens up, grinning. “Great minds think alike, Eds.” 

Eddie makes a face. “Too bad your mind isn’t great, then. Who brought the spaghetti? Mike?” He teases. He goes over to Richie’s dish, taking a big spoonful of the pasta. It doesn’t even reach his plate before Richie’s off the couch and in the kitchen, grabbing his wrist gently to stop the movement. 

“You can’t eat that, Eddie,” he says seriously, frowning a little. Eddie yanks his wrist out of his hold, dumping the spaghetti on his plate. His wrist is warm where Richie touched it, and he shakes it a little.

“Why not, asshole? You know I’m not actually allergic to gluten, right?” He brings the fork to his mouth. 

Richie gasps. “Eddie, don’t! It’s cannibalism!” He immediately cracks up at his own joke, turning to the rest of the room. “Get it? Eddie  _ Spaghetti?” _

The Losers roll their eyes and turn back to their conversation. Eddie does the same, but tries his best to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

***

As it turns out, Eddie isn’t the last one to arrive. Stan and Patty turn up about twenty minutes later, baby carrier in tow. “Sorry,” Patty apologizes, “our sitter cancelled on us last minute.” Stan takes their son, Lucas out of his crib and rocks him in his arms lightly. Eddie stares at them for just a beat too long, and thinks,  _ I want that.  _

Richie raises his glass. “Hey, the more the merrier!” Everyone makes varying noises of agreement. 

Eddie even surprises himself by piping up, “He’s part of the club. Of course we want him here.” He thinks, belatedly, that he might be a little bit drunk. He gets much too soft and honest when he’s drunk, which is the reason he tries not to do it often. But he smiles at Stan and Patty anyways, trying to act like a normal human being who hasn’t been having desperate baby fever for the last two months. 

Stan smiles back at him. “Thanks, Eddie. You want to hold him?”

Eddie looks at Lucas’ tiny fingers, and his little soft cheeks, red from the cold, and thinks he’s never wanted anything more. He clears his throat. “Yeah, sure,” he says, already reaching his arms out. 

The first time Eddie had held Lucas, he had been terrified. He had felt how soft and  _ fragile _ he was, thought about all the ways he could crush him or hold him improperly or otherwise damage him. But Eddie had cradled his head, and Lucas stopped crying. Stan had said, “You’re a natural, Eddie.” And he was so awed that he forgot to be afraid. 

He still feels that now, as he lays Lucas on his arm and supports his tiny head with his palm, stroking his fine baby hairs lightly. Lucas is sleeping, eyelids closed and a peaceful expression on his face. Eddie loves him fiercely. 

Eddie’s mind feels light and worry-free, which is a nice change of pace. He feels the effect of the whiskey he drank, and he feels the effect of being gathered with friends and family. He feels an overwhelming amount of love, and maybe he has that to blame for what happens next. Eddie looks down at Lucas, and very clearly thinks,  _ I wish for a baby. _ He looks up at Richie. 

To his surprise, Richie’s already looking at him, an unreadable look in his eye.  _ Richie would be such a good father,  _ Eddie thinks dreamily. He would, too, he would be gentle and kind and make silly jokes to make the kids happy. He would be the best father in the world. 

_ I wish for a baby with Richie, _ he thinks. 

And the universe hears him. 

***

As Eddie drives back home the next day, he isn’t thinking of much. He’s fighting a fierce hangover, and is mostly ready to go back to sleep. It’s his one day off, and he plans to make the most of it. 

That is, until he arrives home. 

There’s a baby carrier on his doorstep. 

It’s ornate, gold plated with rose engravings on the side. Eddie’s heart is beating out of his chest. He dials Richie’s number without even thinking about it. “Richie,” he starts, breathing shakily. “There’s a baby on my doorstep.” There’s a crash on the other line, followed by a muffled shout. “Richie?” Eddie breathes, not taking his eyes off the carrier. 

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Richie finally replies. He sounds out of breath, and Eddie can hear a car starting in the background. 

Richie lives thirty minutes away. 

Eddie sits down on his porch, going through his breathing exercises and trying very pointedly to not think about all the traffic laws that Richie is probably breaking at the moment. Instead, he thinks about the baby. 

One person can’t wish for a baby alone. 

That’s one of the only rules in the process. Both people have to very specifically wish for a baby at the same time, with a specific partner in mind. And  _ maybe, _ if the universe deems you worthy, you’ll get your wish answered. Eddie doesn’t know why the fuck the universe found  _ him _ worthy. 

He tries not to think about the implications of the baby. Tries not to think that  _ Richie _ wanted a baby with  _ him _ . After he pointedly does  _ not _ think about that, the best he can come up with is a temporary psychotic break in which Richie saw Eddie holding a baby, and his drunk brain filled in the gaps. Eddie knows that Richie recently came out, and at his age he must have been thinking about starting a family. It’s just a shame he’ll have to do it with Eddie, when there were so many better options out there.

Eddie looks towards the baby carrier. He hasn’t looked inside yet. He knows the baby is sleeping, and that it’ll wake up as soon as he looks at it. He doesn’t know if he’s quite ready for that yet. He resolutely looks straight ahead at the wall, and does  _ not _ think about anything at all as he waits for Richie. 

He doesn’t have to wait long, because less than three minutes later, Richie’s pulling up in his driveway at breakneck speed, clambering out of the driver’s seat, and sprinting up to Eddie’s porch. His eyes lock on the baby carriage, and then drift over to Eddie. 

Eddie, feeling incredibly stupid and still maddeningly hungover, bursts into tears. 

“Oh, hey, hey, it’s all right,” Richie immediately starts, sitting beside Eddie and stroking his back. Eddie lays his head on Richie’s shoulder and feels Richie twist to press a kiss to the top of his head. A platonic kiss, he’s sure. Two dudes, co-parenting a magical baby while one dude has a mental breakdown on his porch. Just an average Saturday.

Richie rubs a large hand in circles on Eddie’s back. Eddie’s almost a little mad at how quickly it calms him down. “It’ll be alright, Eds,” he murmurs. For once, Eddie doesn’t protest the nickname.

“I don’t know how to be a dad, Richie,” he replies, wiping at his eyes. Richie turns to look at him, bending slightly to meet his eyes.

“Yes you do, Eddie. You’re great with Lucas, and you’ll be great with our baby.” His cheeks redden slightly. “Um, it is —  _ our _ baby, right?” Eddie looks away, chuckling awkwardly. 

“What, you think I was wishing for a baby with Stan?” He tries to joke. It comes out a little stiff, but Richie laughs anyways, a quick, strangled sound. 

“Right,” is all Richie says, and it becomes immediately clear that they’re not going to talk about it. Eddie wilts a little. There go his half-formed fantasies of a romantic love confession. Richie really  _ did  _ just project his familial wishes on the nearest guy holding a baby. Great. 

Eddie clears his throat, disentangling himself from Richie’s arms and standing up. “So, should we...” He gestures loosely towards the baby carrier. 

Richie swallows hard, standing up as well. “Yeah. Let’s go meet our baby.” He sounds a little choked up. Eddie supposes anyone would be, about to meet their child. It has nothing to do with Eddie or the way Richie said  _ our baby.  _ Nothing at all. 

Eddie crouches down in front of the carrier, looking inside at the little bundle. “Hi, baby,” he says quietly, feeling incredibly soft. The baby opens its eyes, little pools of brown staring at him and Richie contentedly. There’s a fancy little plaque by the front of the carrier with the names  _ Edward Kaspbrack _ and  _ Richard Tozier _ in gold calligraphy. Eddie unthinkingly reaches out a hand to Richie, and he takes it immediately, entangling their fingers without a second thought. At that moment, the only people in the world are Eddie, Richie, and their baby.  _ Their _ baby. Fuck. 

Eddie tries his hardest to hold back tears as he opens his door and brings the carrier inside, setting it on the table. He immediately looks around his home, at the hard tile and the exposed outlets on the wall. “Fuck, we’re gonna need to baby-proof.” He’s immediately struck with an unpleasant thought. What if Richie wanted to keep the baby for his own? What if he wanted some sort of shared custody arrangement, where Eddie only gets to see the baby every other week? After all, he didn’t really want to have a baby with  _ Eddie.  _ He just wanted a baby. 

Eddie looks uncertainly at Richie, who is still cooing at their baby, love in his eyes. “Unless you want to...” he trails off when Richie looks at him quizzically. 

“Unless I want to what?” he prompts. Eddie shrugs. 

“Just... how do you want to do this?” Eddie tries to sound casual, and not like he’s dying inside at the prospect of Richie going,  _ Oh, well, I’ll be off now, and maybe you can see the baby on weekends. Bye! _

Not that he would do that. Richie isn’t an asshole. And they’re best friends. There’s no reason they shouldn’t be able to platonically co-parent a baby together. No reason at all, except for Eddie’s stupid feelings. 

Richie smiles at him. “Well, the baby showed up here, so I’m guessing this should be its home. And I’ll do whatever you want me to — move in, sleep on the couch, commute from home every day — just let me know.” Eddie is dumbstruck for a second. He clears his throat, attempting to produce words like a normal person. 

“Well, a thirty minute commute probably isn’t feasible. So you can move in, if you’re sure you want to.” Eddie tries not to imagine sleeping in the same bed as Richie, or waking up to Richie making breakfast in the kitchen. Just two friends, living together. Roommates, even. Nothing romantic about it in the slightest. 

Something about Eddie’s tone of voice must have struck a chord with Richie, because he looks towards Eddie, brow furrowed in concern. “Eds, of  _ course  _ I want to. I want to be here for our baby. I want to be a good dad.” Eddie smiles, despite how sure he is that he looks like a dopey idiot. 

“Of course you’ll be a good dad, Rich.” He eyes the carrier. “Boy or girl?” he questions softly. “We need something to call it other than ‘the baby.’” He would love either, would love his child with all his heart regardless of gender. 

Richie gently lifts up the blanket to check. “Girl,” he says quietly, choked up. Eddie moves to stand next to him, to get a good look at their daughter. He swallows hard. She has Eddie’s big brown eyes, and the beginning wisps of Richie’s curly hair. She’s perfect. 

Eddie thinks about his mother’s own words, what seems like a million years ago.  _ A gift from the universe.  _

Eddie can’t help but echo the sentiment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s the first chapter! Next chapter will be Richie POV. If you liked it, be sure to leave a nice comment and give kudos! I love you all, and I can’t wait to get started on the next chapter. Be sure to check out my other fics while you’re waiting!
> 
> (Also, did I really make a cannibalism joke in my Hannibal-inspired fic? Yes. Yes I did.)
> 
> -H


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a name, a group chat, and 10% less dumbassery than usual, on Richie’s part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back so soon? I know, I’m spoiling you guys. This fic has grabbed my heart and won’t let go. Enjoy!

Here’s a secret: Richie’s always wanted kids. More specific, he’s always wanted kids with  _ Eddie.  _ When Richie was younger, he had been fascinated by wish-babies. He had asked Eddie countless times about his own wishing (or rather, his parents’), and Eddie had always told him the same story, with varying degrees of patience. Richie had been enthralled with the prospect of having a whole  _ baby _ just because you wished hard enough. Sometimes, he had looked at Eddie and imagined he could wish hard enough for the both of them. On very special occasions in Richie’s late teens (translating to: nights where he got lonely and pined for Eddie extra hard), he would Wish in the privacy of his own room, tears running down his face. God only knows what teenage Richie would have done with a baby if he had actually, by some miracle, received one. 

Even when he couldn’t remember Eddie, his fantasy partner was always short, and brunette, with big brown eyes and a fierce, fiery disposition. He never quite knew why, and just brushed it off uncomfortably as an overactive imagination. Until he saw Eddie again, and immediately thought,  _ Oh. It’s you.  _

Since then, his brain has been hopelessly filled with images of Eddie with kids. Eddie reading to twins while Richie looks on fondly from the doorstep, Eddie pushing a little girl on a swingset, jeans rolled up to avoid getting dirt on them. Eddie holding a baby while napping, snoring a bit with his head tilted back. 

Pennywise had taunted him about it on several occasions, when It got him alone and scared. Sometimes, late at night, Richie could still hear the phantom baby cries ringing in his ears, could still feel the bone-gripping terror that would race through him at the thought of It harming his non-existent family.  _ What’s the matter, Richie?  _ It had said.  _ I’m just pretending. We’re just playing make-believe. After all, you don’t  _ really  _ have a family, do you? _

Unfortunately, Richie’s fantasies only got worse when Lucas was born. Eddie was scared at first, but he very quickly fell into a natural familial role with him, babysitting often and helping to take care of him whenever he could. It was obvious to anyone with eyes how much he cared about him. He doted on him, loved him, just as he would his own child. So Richie’s fantasies increased tenfold (including a hefty amount of baby fantasies), and he became even more resolved that Eddie would never know. Eddie was divorced, sure, but he was very obviously straight. He had never so much as expressed a passing interest in a possible male partner. Come to think of it, he had never expressed interest in  _ anyone,  _ but there was the obvious exception of his marriage. To a woman. So. 

Richie very determinedly kept his fantasies to himself, and more importantly didn’t do any concrete  _ wishing _ of any kind. Sure, it was impossible to wish for a baby by yourself, but it never hurt to be careful. Looking at his baby  _ (his  _ baby!) sleeping soundly in her carrier, he thinks,  _ Example A.  _ Not that he regrets getting drunk and wishing for her. Not that he regrets Eddie, inexplicably, wishing back. He loves their still-unnamed daughter fiercely, and would never regret having her in any way, shape, or form. His only regret is that he’s forced Eddie into starting a family he didn’t really want, with a partner he didn’t choose. 

Because here’s the thing. Eddie was drunk, that night. He was definitely drunk, and Richie knows this because Eddie gets soft around the edges any time he has even a little bit of alcohol. It’s one of Richie’s favorite things about him, the way his sharp edges soften into something sweet, the way he shows his vulnerable side, even if it’s just for a few hours. But Eddie was extra soft that night, and holding a baby, and for a second his eyes had locked with Richie. And, Richie’s fairly certain that in that moment, Eddie’s drunk brain associated  _ baby _ with  _ Richie,  _ and the wish had been made. And on Richie’s side? He had been weak. He had let his fantasies become more concrete, just for a moment. And now they were real. 

A soft cry startles Richie out of his thoughts, and he looks over to his daughter. She’s fussing, tiny fists waving in the air, and face scrunched up in displeasure. Richie carefully reaches into her carrier and lifts her out, cradling her against his chest gently. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Daddy’s here.” He rocks her back and forth gently, and her cries taper off. Within moments, she’s still, her huge brown eyes gazing up at him. 

“There you are. You’re okay, honey,” Richie says softly. He glances at the time on his phone. It’s been more than an hour since Eddie went to the store to stock up on baby supplies. Richie would have happily gone with him and brought the baby, but he had recognized that Eddie was dangerously close to a panic attack and needed some time alone. Richie was more than happy to stay with their daughter, was more than happy to be in her life in any way Eddie would let him. 

They had a brief argument over baby names before Eddie left, with Richie jokingly suggesting they text the Losers group chat for suggestions and break the news that way. Eddie had glared absolute  _ daggers _ at him, breaking out of his panicked state for just long enough to become a tiny ball of fury. 

Richie was, in reality, losing his mind over the prospect of having to tell the rest of the Losers. Not because he thought they would disapprove — but because they would immediately assume Richie and Eddie had gotten together, and they would approve  _ too _ much. To the point where Eddie would get suspicious. The truth was, Richie was almost positive that the entire group knew about his love for Eddie. At the very least, Stan and Bev knew for sure, because Richie had told them when he was younger. The rest of them at least  _ suspected,  _ because Richie was blindingly obvious at the best of times.

Richie realized, with a start, that the best way to prevent a fiasco was to warn the group beforehand. He pulled out his phone and starts a group text with everyone except Eddie.

_ Hey,  _ he types,  _ so eds and i are gonna tell you guys something later. but we’re NOT together. romantically. even though this thing that we’re going to tell you might seem like it.  _

He realizes as soon as he sends it how fucking suspicious it sounds, and he sits in tense anticipation waiting for the replies. 

Stan’s comes almost immediately.  _ You guys got a fucking baby didn’t you.  _

Richie goes still.  _ Noooo!!!  _ he types furiously.  _ of course not hahahaha.  _

He realizes, much too late, that Stan was only joking, in that dry, sarcastic way he does. And Richie’s reply was extremely suspect. At the very least, one ‘ha’ too many. 

_ Wait,  _ types Bev, a single text.  _ Did you??! I want pictures ASAP.  _

The group chat, as expected, absolutely explodes. One text in particular stands out. 

It’s from Ben.  _ Richie, you can’t wish for a baby alone. Eddie had to have wished too. Who says it wasn’t romantic? Have you asked him? _

Richie kind of hates Ben right now, his stupid abs and his stupid floppy hair and his stupid tendency about being  _ reasonable.  _ Of course Richie’s not going to ask him. He would rather die first, in a little melted puddle of embarrassment, before asking Eddie,  _ hey, so Ben thinks you might like me. Like-like. You know? Check yes or no, please.  _

He settles with ignoring the comment and sending the group a quick selfie of him and the baby, asleep on his chest. His only text after that is,  _ you guys better act fucking surprised later,  _ and they all promise him that they will. They return to cooing over his daughter, and Richie smiles softly before setting his phone down. “You  _ are _ pretty cute, huh?” he leans down to whisper in her ear conspiratorially. “You get that from your Papa, you know. He’s the cutest. And now, so are you.” She sleeps on, blissfully unaware of his confession. 

Not two minutes later, his phone is ringing. Richie wonders for a second if Eddie’s calling to check on the baby, or to lament the lack of hypoallergenic baby wipes at the store, or something along that vein, before he checks the caller ID and sees that it’s just Bev. He picks up, putting her on speaker and setting the phone down so he can have both his hands free to hold the baby. 

She starts talking almost immediately after he picks up. 

“Okay, so I was talking to Ben—” 

“Is that what the kids call it these days?  _ Talking?” _ Richie wiggles his eyebrows, then immediately feels stupid because he knows she can’t see him. Also because he knows where this conversation is going and he  _ doesn’t  _ want to talk about it. 

Bev takes it in stride.  _ “Yes,  _ Richie. We were talking, and we both think that you should talk to Eddie about how you feel.” Richie makes a vague noise in protest, but she continues on, undeterred. “No, listen. Hear me out. You  _ don’t  _ know how he feels, Rich. You can make up how he feels in your head all you want, but you won’t  _ know _ unless you talk to him.” Richie opens his mouth to retort, but something about the conviction of her statement makes him think. 

Eddie and Bev have gotten a lot closer over the past few months, brought together by their mutual divorces to their shitty parent-imitating spouses. They get together for drinks almost weekly, and if  _ anyone  _ knows how Eddie feels... it would be Bev. 

“Bev,” Richie says cautiously, “do  _ you _ know how Eddie feels?” His mind is spiraling with tentative hope, and he shakes his head to clear it. 

Bev pauses for a beat too long. “What Eddie may or may not have confided to me isn’t mine to tell. I won’t betray his trust like that.” There’s another pause, in which Richie can hear nothing but the sound of his own heart beating. “What I  _ am _ telling you,” she says slowly, “is that you should ask him. And it might pay off. Do you understand?”

Richie considers this. And considers some more. “Yeah, Bev. Thanks.” He tries to keep his voice steady. 

Bev’s voice is warm when she replies. “Of course. And Richie?”

“Yeah Bev?”

“I want lots of pictures, okay?  _ Lots.” _

Richie fights a smile. “You got it.” 

The call disconnects, and then Richie’s left alone, with nothing but his baby and his thoughts. And boy, does he have a lot of thoughts. 

Maybe, just  _ maybe,  _ Bev had a point. 

***

Richie’s almost asleep when Eddie bursts in the door, a tornado of energy and shopping bags. “I have a name!” he loudly exclaims, apropos of absolutely fucking nothing. As expected, his exclamation wakes up the baby, and she loudly cries in protest before Richie calms her down. He stares at Eddie incredulously. “That’s great, Eds. I have a name, too. Most people on the planet have names, I would assume.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, setting the bags on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, dumbass, I know. You know who  _ doesn’t  _ have a name? Our  _ baby.” _ He stares at Richie like he’s the absolute dumbest fucking person on the planet, which, to be fair, is somewhat true. Richie goes to answer, but becomes preoccupied with the way Eddie’s taking a bottle of baby formula out and warming it like it’s second nature. In the face of his silence, Eddie hesitates a little. 

“Did you have a name in mind, Rich? We don’t have to use mine.” Richie drags his eyes away from Eddie’s adept hands, currently twisting the cap on a baby bottle, before he answers. 

“No, go ahead, Eds. I’d love to hear it.” Truthfully, he couldn’t think of anything in the last hour, couldn’t think of a single name that properly encompassed the all-consuming love he felt for their baby girl. 

Eddie, seemingly satisfied with his bottle preparations, walks over to sit on the couch next to Richie. He holds his arms out, and Richie wordlessly passes over their daughter, watching as Eddie begins to feed her with a practiced hand. Eddie looks down at their daughter, then back at Richie. “Um, I was thinking — Valentina. I was looking up baby names in the store, and it means ‘strong,’ which I like. I want our baby to be brave, Rich. I want her to be strong.” Eddie carefully adjusts her in his arms as he speaks, and Richie can see in his eyes how much this means to him, even though he’s trying to hide it. 

“I don’t want her to be scared, like I was. I want her to know that she’s loved, and that she’s—” Eddie looks away for a second. “Braver than she thinks she is.” 

Richie starts, recognizing his own words from the cavern. He can feel tears pricking at his eyes, and he opens and closes his mouth wordlessly. Eddie, still not looking at him, mistakes his silence for disapproval. “I mean, I just didn’t want to name her any of those dumb, new age baby names, you know? Like Lake, but spelled like... I don’t know, L-A-Y-K-E-E. Or, like, something basic and overused. But if you have something better—” 

Richie cuts off his ramble with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Eddie,” he says softly. “It’s perfect.”

Eddie raises his eyes to look at him. “Yeah?” he asks, the vulnerability clear in his voice. Richie wants more than anything to kiss it away, but he’s not sure if that would be welcomed, so he bends down to kiss their baby instead.  _ Valentina. _

“Our little Tina,” Richie murmurs. Eddie smiles at him, then frowns contemplatively. 

“You better not give her any dumb nicknames, Rich.” Richie hums noncommittally. He gives Eddie his best  _ Who, me? _ face, then leans closer to Eddie’s face. He’s struck momentarily by the hitch in Eddie’s breath, the slight dilation of his pupils. Fuck. Maybe Bev wasn’t screwing with him after all. Maybe there  _ was _ something there, even if it was undoubtedly much less than Richie felt for Eddie. Still. There must have been  _ something,  _ for Eddie to wish for a baby with Richie. Some quality that he somehow found attractive. Richie wishes he knew what it was, so he could do it more. 

_ I could kiss him, _ he thinks suddenly. 

Instead of doing that, though, he leans closer so his mouth is by Eddie’s ear, like he’s going to tell him a secret. Eddie is still incredibly tense. 

_ “Tiny Tina,” _ Richie whispers quietly. Eddie’s still for a moment, his eyes closed. 

A second passes, and Eddie registers the comment, his eyes snapping open. A scowl fixes itself to his face, and he thumps Richie on the shoulder. “Asshole. Do  _ not _ call her that.” He pauses. “It’s not as bad as it could have been, though.”

Richie chuckles, pulling away from Eddie to give him a little space. His cheeks are flushed, he notes with interest. “Give it time. I’m sure I’ll think of more.” He is, in fact, already thinking of many more, ranging from  _ Val-ly Girl  _ to  _ Tina Beena _ . Eddie doesn’t need to know that, though. Richie’ll save them up for special moments, so that he can see that adorable crease in between Eddie’s eyebrows when he inevitably yells at him. 

Eddie, currently, is making a stern attempt to look mad, but there’s a small smile threatening to break loose at the corner of his lips. Cute cute  _ cute.  _ Richie fights the inane urge to pinch his cheeks like they’re five years old. 

Richie can’t ignore his growing tiredness, though, and he fights back a huge yawn with determination. “Do you want to try and sleep?” he asks. “Or do you want to go in shifts?” Eddie looks like he’s contemplating this. 

“You go ahead. I’ll stay up with her.” Eddie looks down at Valentina with obvious adoration, and Richie fights a smile. 

“Okay. Do you have a guest room, or...” Richie trails off, despite knowing full well that the only place to sleep in the whole house is Eddie’s room. Even the couch would be too short for Richie to fully stretch out on, because it was clearly made for a midget of Eddie’s proportions. Not that Richie minds. At all. 

Eddie fidgets for a second, seemingly indecisive. “We’ll sleep in my room,” he finally hedges. “We’re adults, we can sleep in the same bed without it being weird.”

Richie sincerely doubts that, but he doesn’t voice that opinion. “Alright, Eds,” he says instead. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He’s already planning a breakfast of eggs and bacon (one of the only things he knows how to cook) for the next morning, in hopes that whatever attractive qualities Eddie saw in him can be brought out by his cooking. He just wants to impress him, honestly. He has since he was a scrawny thirteen year old kid, making  _ your mom _ jokes and riling Eddie up to get his attention. 

He’s still that kid now, except now he has a kid of his own. A  _ family.  _ And he sure as hell isn’t going to screw it up. 

So maybe, in the morning, him and Eddie can have that talk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, as I said, I have decided to make Richie a little less of a dumbass. I’m honestly kind of enjoying it. Place your bets now on whether he’ll actually work up the courage to talk to Eddie, though. I’m sure you already know the answer, because I love torturing you guys ;)  
> Remember to leave kudos, comments, and bookmark it if you like the fic so far! I’ve already got plans for the next chapter, so get ready!!  
> Until next time <3
> 
> -H


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eddie’s (slightly neurotic) pov, featuring the women in his life doing their very best to cure his dumbass disease. poor eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, i’m actually a little scared at how fast i’m churning out this fic. No lie, i’ve had this chapter finished for two days. I just waited to post it so it wouldn’t be too weird.😭 This fic, yall.

Eddie wakes up, slowly, to the sound of sizzling bacon in the kitchen. He smiles, thinking of his much-beloved fantasy in which Richie wakes him up with breakfast in bed. He lets himself imagine, for a moment, what that would be like, and basks in the image for a few seconds. 

Then those seconds are over, and Eddie figures he should probably get up and make sure Richie’s not trying to feed pieces of bacon to their day-old baby. 

Eddie trods quietly down the hallway towards the kitchen, already thinking about how he’s going to thank Richie for making breakfast. Would a hug be too weird? A handshake? No, a handshake would _definitely_ be weird, what the fuck is wrong with him? He could always just say _thank you_ like a normal goddamn person. 

He’s right in the middle of considering the possibility of a bro hug when he hears the smoke alarm start to go off. And then he abruptly remembers that Richie can’t cook. At all. He runs the rest of the way into the kitchen, skidding to a stop when he takes in the scene before him. 

There’s a whole load of burnt bacon filling up the trash can, a small fire on the stovetop, Valentina crying in her baby carrier, and finally, Richie standing on top of Eddie’s kitchen counter, seemingly trying to strangle the smoke detector with a dish towel. 

Eddie takes a second to process the absolute absurdity of this scene, pinches the bridge of his nose, and desperately fights the urge to laugh. Richie, having heard him come in, twists his head around to look at him. There’s a beat of silence. 

“Hey,” Richie says awkwardly. “Did I wake you?”

Eddie blinks, then quickly moves to smother the fire on the stovetop and then scoop up Valentina in his arms, shushing and rocking her the best he can. He peers up at Richie, who’s blinking owlishly at him from the kitchen counter. “Yes, Richie,” he says finally. “You woke me.”

Valentina starts to settle down after Richie’s effectively murdered the smoke detector, and Eddie sets about to making her a bottle. He looks up at Richie. “Get down from there. We can just order pancakes instead.”

Richie raises his eyebrows. “You can _do_ that?” he asks wonderingly, clambering down from the counter. 

“The wonders of the internet, Rich,” Eddie replies. He hands Valentina to Richie and he kisses her soundly on the forehead before setting her back in her carrier. Eddie’s heart twists painfully at the sight, but he firmly ignores it. _Platonic co-parenting,_ he reminds himself. _You’ve got this._

Eddie pulls up Uber Eats on his phone and orders pancakes, as promised, and the app helpfully informs him that someone will deliver them in thirty minutes. Great. 

He and Richie sit in slightly uncomfortable silence for a few seconds, the only sound being Valentina determinedly sucking on her bottle. Eddie’s gaze drifts to the mangled smoke detector on the wall, hanging by a single red wire. He wonders, somewhat maniacally, how this morning would be going if Richie and Eddie were a proper couple. He imagines himself asking Richie, _Any plans today, honey?_ And Richie replying _Just spending time with you, dear._ Of course, that conversation would never happen, because Eddie would sooner change his name and move to Antarctica before suffer through the embarrassment of calling Richie _honey._ And of course, because Richie is Richie, their morning would still probably be going about the same even if they were together. Which they’re not. 

Still, because Eddie can’t stand the silence, he blurts out, “Any plans today?” and adds on _honey_ in the privacy of his own head. He still blushes a little, though, at the gall of his fantasy self. 

Richie looks at him a little strangely, but answers readily enough. “Nah, just staying here with you and Tina.” The conversation is enough like the one in Eddie’s head that he twitches a little. 

Richie is quick to add on, “What about you, Eds? Going to work?” 

Eddie picks at a splinter on the kitchen table. “No, I called yesterday and took parental leave. They said I can work from home.” Not that he planned on getting much work done, that is. 

Richie nods jerkily. He looks a little queasy, and Eddie hopes fervently that he isn’t sick. He does look like he’s working up to say something, though. Maybe he’s nervous. About what? Eddie imagines it in his head: _Eddie, I’ve decided that I want to take Tina home. I’ve met a nice guy, I think we could be a family. You can still come ‘round, though!_ And promptly feels like _he’ll_ be sick. To be fair, though, Eddie’s not sure how Richie could have met someone in the last day and a half, for most of which he’s been at Eddie’s house, but. It could happen, okay. Online dating is a thing, and Richie probably has potential boyfriends lining up the block. 

Eddie’s interrupted from his thoughts by a knock at the door. He frowns slightly — it’d been hardly ten minutes. There’s no way the food had arrived already. He gets up to answer it, leaving Richie at the table. 

He opens the door and comes face to face with Myra. 

His eyes widen, and he does his best to block her view into the kitchen with his body. She frowns, trying to look past him before seemingly giving up. There’s a stack of papers in her arms. 

“Hi,” she starts jerkily, “I, um, wanted to give you the divorce papers myself. They’re signed and everything.” She looks distinctly like she might be on the verge of bursting into tears. “And I just wanted to say—”

And that, of course, is when Valentina lets out an ear-splitting wail. Eddie winces. 

Myra’s entire expression transforms into one of shock. “Is that a _baby?”_ she asks hoarsely. Her question is answered when Richie sheepishly comes up to the door, Valentina in his arms. She’s still crying, little face going red with exertion. Richie glances at Myra, then back at Eddie. 

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t calm her down,” Richie says quietly. “She wants you.” Obediently, Eddie picks her up, rubbing her back in gentle circles until she goes silent. 

Myra seems stunned speechless, mouth opening and closing uselessly for what has to be at least a full minute. Eventually, she stares at Richie and Eddie with a dazed expression, as if she’s just been hit over the head. “Is this your... _partner?”_ she asks faintly, addressing Eddie. Eddie promptly wishes for death. 

“Myra, could we have this conversation outside?” he asks, somewhat desperately. He hasn’t come out to Richie or the rest of the Losers yet (with one exception), and if Myra outs him now, it’ll only be a matter of time before Richie figures out Eddie’s pathetic, unrequited love. It’ll send him running for the hills, Eddie’s sure, or at the very least make their relationship extremely strained and uncomfortable. 

Myra stares at him like he’s insane. “No, we can not,” she says obstinately. “Eddie, you said you never cheated on me. You said you didn’t want children. We had that conversation _two days ago,_ and now I find you with a —” she looks at Richie, seemingly unsure what to term him, and makes a wide gesture that encompasses his whole body, “—and a baby. What am I supposed to make of that?” 

Eddie truly does, in this moment, feel terribly for her. He knows how it looks, especially when they had just recently talked about Myra’s wish for a family with him, and he had turned her down vehemently. “Myra,” he says gently. “This is my friend Richie.” Richie gives an awkward wave from behind his shoulder. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. I didn’t cheat on you, Myra. I know how it looks, but I swear I didn’t. We’re just friends.”

Myra doesn’t look like she believes him in the slightest. “A friend that you wished for a baby with?” she says disbelievingly. “Eddie, you told me you were... homosexual,” she says it carefully, like a foreign word, “but I believed you when you said you weren’t leaving me for a man.” Her eyes well up with tears. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and very determinedly does not look at Richie to see his reaction. Myra, on the other hand, is teetering on the edge of a full-on breakdown. 

“I just don’t know why you would _lie_ to me,” she says finally, her voice breaking on the last word. Tears start to silently pour down her face. Eddie looks helplessly at Richie, who in turn looks like he’s been hit by a truck. Eddie hands over Valentina, who’s reluctantly calmed down and is now observing the scene with wide-eyed wonder. 

Wordlessly, Eddie puts a hand on Myra’s shoulder and leads her outside, turning to close the door behind him. He leads her to sit on the bench on his porch, rubbing big circles on her back. Even if they weren’t on the best of terms, she deserved the truth. 

Eddie takes a deep breath, then begins to talk. “I’ve known Richie since we were seven years old. We grew up together, and then we grew apart.” Myra has calmed down slightly, now looking at him with watery eyes. He takes this as a sign to continue. “Recently, we... found each other again. The baby was an accident. Not one I regret,” he says hastily, “but I didn’t intend for it to happen. I was a bit drunk at the time, and so was Rich,” he continues, using the nickname unthinkingly. “But I wouldn’t take it back for anything. They’re my family now.” She blinks at him a few times, processing the information. 

“You love him,” she says definitively. Eddie feels his heart stop for a moment, struck. He forgets, sometimes, that Myra has the uncanny ability to see right through him. She meets his eyes. “I believe you, that you’re friends. But you love him, even if you haven’t told him. I know you, Eddie,” she finishes quietly. Eddie, still feeling distinctly shocked, can offer nothing but a tiny nod. 

Myra wipes away her tears with the back of her hand and takes a deep breath. “You have a beautiful baby,” she says softly. Her eyes are wistful. 

Eddie gives her a small smile. “Her name’s Valentina,” he offers. Myra nods, seemingly still lost in thought. 

“Eddie, a few days ago you told me to move on with my life. To do things that make me happy,” she says. She meets his eyes and holds his gaze. “You should do the same.” She swallows hard, then takes his hand. 

“I’ve decided to start therapy,” she says hoarsely, no more than a whisper. “You were right. We weren’t good for each other.” Eddie is stricken at the difference between this Myra and the one he talked to on the phone only two days ago. He supposes it’s the same Myra, just stripped down to her essence. To the person she was before they met, before the world chewed her up and spit her back out. She already looks happier than she ever had during their marriage. 

“That’s great, Myra,” he says quietly. “I’m happy for you.” She looks at him, and for an uncomfortable moment it feels as if she can read his mind, his innermost thoughts. 

“I wanted to say I was sorry,” she says, a non-sequitur. “That’s why I came in person.” Her voice trembles ever so slightly. “I’m sorry for the effect I had on your life. For the effect we had on each other.” She glances towards the house briefly. “I hope you can move on, with your family. With your partner.” Eddie feels tears spring to his eyes, and moves quickly to wipe them away before they fall. He briefly considers debating the use of the word ‘partner,’ but they both know the truth. 

“I’m sorry too. For our marriage, for the unhappiness we gave each other.” He almost offers to stay in touch, to stay friends, but he knows they were never truly friends in the first place. She’s better off completely removed from him, as he is with her. At that moment, he’s stricken with the knowledge that they will probably never see each other again. 

Myra nods sharply, decisively. She hands him the papers that she’s still clutching in her lap, and he takes them gratefully. A done deal. They look at each other for a few moments, before Myra stands up to leave. Eddie stands as well, helplessly watching her begin the route back to her car. Myra opens her car door, then pauses. “Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“That wasn’t— Richie _Tozier,_ was it? The comedian?”

Eddie lets out a sharp, surprised bark of laughter. He offers her nothing but a shrug, and she looks faintly bemused in return. Eddie watches as her car pulls out of the driveway, out of his life. 

He turns back to the house, and heads into the unknown. 

***

Soon after, the pancakes have arrived, and Richie and Eddie sit at the kitchen table together, silently chewing. Eddie can hear the tick of his wall clock, steady and maddening. He has no idea how to start this conversation, how to even _begin_ to address what just happened. 

No need to worry, though, because Richie does it for him. “So,” he says, talking while still chewing his pancake. “That was the wife, huh? Or,” he glances at the divorce papers on the table, “ex-wife, now.” Eddie nods slowly. 

Richie blinks at him. “She was nicer than I expected.” Eddie looks at him bemusedly.

“What did you expect?”

“Honestly? The reanimated corpse of Mrs.K.” Richie twirls his fork idly, and Eddie winces at the imagery. 

“She’s a _person,_ Rich, not a cartoon villain,” he argues, slightly offended on Myra’s behalf. 

“No, I know,” Richie protests. “She just seemed — sad.” He shovels more pancake pieces in his mouth, and Eddie tries not to wince at his horrible table manners. 

He nods in agreement. “She has some things to work out,” he says delicately. He pushes some pancake pieces around on his plate and wonders how to address the elephant in the room. He glances hopefully at Richie, waiting to see if he’ll bring it up himself. 

When a few seconds pass with nothing but Richie’s frenzied chewing, Eddie clears his throat and decides to fall on his own sword. “So, um. About what Myra said—” Richie looks up immediately, swallowing his pancakes so fast Eddie worries he’ll choke. 

“You don’t have to talk about that, Eddie. Not if you don’t want to.” His hands fiddle with his fork nervously. “She shouldn’t have outed you like that. I know—” He looks to the side, clearing his throat. “I know how scary it can be.” 

Eddie is struck with empathy for a minute, knowing how hard it is for Richie to bring up his own sexuality. He had thrown up immediately after coming out to the Losers, and then had hidden away in his house for a week afterwards. Eddie can certainly relate, in this moment. “No, it’s okay,” he says, despite the thrum of _notokaynotokay_ in his veins. He fights to keep his voice steady. “I would have told you and everyone else soon enough. I was just— working up to it. And I didn’t want to steal your thunder,” he says, with a light chuckle that he doesn’t really feel. “I just don’t want you to think,” _that I’m creepily in love with you,_ “that. I,” he flounders, unsure how to phrase it delicately. Richie, thankfully, comes to his rescue. 

“No, it’s okay. It’s like you said,” Richie says, only a trace of tension in his tone. “We’re just friends.” There’s a look in his eyes that Eddie doesn’t know how to interpret, and it makes him feel guilty and wrong-footed without really knowing why. Eddie nods in agreement, feeling steadily worse about the whole conversation. 

“Friends raising a baby,” he says faux-lightly, trying to insert a joke where Richie usually would. It falls incredibly flat. 

Richie’s gaze drifts over to Valentina, who stares at him right back, with big brown eyes. “Friends raising a baby,” he agrees somberly. 

***

Around mid-day, Eddie decides that all the uncomfortable conversations that need to be had should be done today, like ripping off a band-aid. He says as much to Richie (using _very_ different phrasing), and Richie agrees that they should tell the Losers about Valentina. Eddie decides that the best way to do it, in true band-aid ripping fashion, is to simply bring her over to Bill’s house when they all get together that night, as they had already planned to do. Richie doesn’t argue this plan (surprisingly, given that randomly springing a baby on their friends is not exactly one of Eddie’s best ideas), and so they go on with their day. 

Eddie sets the task of baby-proofing the house, covering all the exposed outlets and picking everything off the floor (he wants to be prepared for when she starts crawling, even though it’s ages away). More importantly, he sanitizes every surface in the house (twice), and calls a local pediatrician to set up an appointment for Valentina’s shots. He has the urge to google every type of illness babies can contract and how to prevent them, but he stops himself, knowing it will only freak him out unnecessarily. 

All the while, Richie watches Netflix on the couch with Valentina, some children’s program with bright colors and talking animals. Eddie watches him point to things on the screen and imitate the characters in a silly voice, talking to Valentina as if she has any clue what’s going on. Eddie pauses from scrubbing the kitchen counter to watch Richie fondly as he says, “look, Tina! Mr. Bear found a ladybug in the forest!” with a great deal of enthusiasm. Valentina simply blinks at him and makes a tiny cooing noise that Eddie immediately melts over. 

Richie must notice his silent vigil in the kitchen, and he twists around to meet his eye. “Come and sit down, Eds,” he says, patting the space next to him on the couch. “You’ve been cleaning all day.” Eddie looks at the soapy sponge in his hand, and then at Richie and Valentina, and finds that the latter wins without any competition. He peels off his gloves and goes to sit next to Richie, carefully keeping a few inches of space between them. 

Richie adjusts Valentina in his arms to face Eddie. “Look, sweetheart,” he says softly, “it’s your Papa.” Eddie tries not to combust on the spot, but it’s a close call. He glances at the TV, where Mr. Bear is teaching the forest animals a lesson about friendship. _This is my life now,_ he thinks, and feels it sink in. _Me, Richie, and Val._ He holds out a finger and watches as Valentina grips it in her tiny hand. She blinks at him contentedly, and Eddie, inexplicably, feels his eyes well up with tears. He fights to keep them from falling. 

When he pulls his gaze away from Valentina, he sees Richie looking at him with more fondness in his eyes than he’s ever seen from him before. Eddie feels his breath hitch, and recalls the moment from the day before when he’d thought Richie was going to kiss him. He’s not, of course, but when he looks at him like _that,_ it’s hard to remember common sense. 

“Everything okay?” says Richie quietly. He’s still looking at him, that insensibly fond look still gleaming in his eye. 

“Yeah,” replies Eddie hoarsely. “Everything’s great.”

***

Eddie knocks precisely three times on Bill’s door, and feels a wave of nausea run through him. Richie, holding Valentina’s carrier, looks at him with poorly-concealed concern. “It’ll be fine, Eddie,” he says soothingly. Eddie nods frantically, trying to convince himself of the same fact. 

It’s not that he doesn’t think it will be fine. It’s that he’s worried for the implications that come with having a wish-baby, for the automatic assumption everyone will make that Richie and Eddie are together now, a loving couple with their newborn baby. Eddie wishes that were the case, and he’s dreading having to explain the truth to his friends. 

Bill answers the door, swinging it wide open before automatically looking at the baby carrier. His eyes widen like saucers. “W-wow,” he says faintly. “That’s a baby.”

Richie looks at him like he’s incredibly stupid. “Sure is, Big Bill,” he replies easily, pushing past him into the house. Eddie follows dazedly, unsure what else to do. God, this was a dumb idea. He should have just texted them. 

Inside, Valentina is immediately met with similar reactions. Beverly brings a hand to her mouth in a (slightly-exaggerated?) expression of shock. Mike just looks at her with a wide-eyed expression and a slightly open mouth. Ben actually _gasps,_ like a bad actor in a low-rated horror film. Stan simply looks at them and says, “Wow. What a surprise,” in what _has_ to be the most dryly sarcastic voice Eddie’s ever heard from him. Eddie’s almost too busy staring at the group in extreme confusion to see Richie glaring at them from over the top of his head. _Almost._

Eddie turns on his heel. “Richie, what the fuck, did you _tell them?”_ He’s stung by the idea, the thought that Richie would tell the group something so important without Eddie’s consent. He thought that Richie would support him on this, that he would understand how hard it was to break the news to their friends. 

Richie, to his credit, looks extremely sheepish. “It was an accident,” he protests weakly, “and they _said_ they would act surprised,” he finishes, glaring at their friends. 

Ben looks like a kicked puppy. “I’m sorry Richie, we tried.” Bev rubs his shoulder consolingly, while Stan just snorts in amusement. Bev looks up at Eddie apologetically.

“It really was an accident, Eddie. Richie didn’t tell us, we figured it out on our own.” Eddie takes a moment to wonder what the _fuck_ Richie could have said to make them figure that out, before letting out a sigh of defeat. 

“Okay, okay,” he says placatingly. “Everyone’s forgiven. Now come meet Valentina.” As he talks, she stirs from her nap and makes a little sleepy noise, wriggling slightly. Everyone, as expected, looks on in adoration, with Ben even letting out an audible _aww._ Eddie lets out a sigh of relief, now that the hardest part is over. Richie smiles over at him, placing a big hand on his shoulder and rubbing gently. Eddie tries not to melt into the touch, but he’s not sure if he quite succeeds. 

The next hour is spent with a fair amount of cooing and fawning over Valentina, who, in turn, seems fairly pleased with the attention. Richie talks animatedly to everyone who will listen about what a great baby she is, and Eddie has a thirty-minute conversation with Stan and Patty about parenting tips and dealing with newborns. To Eddie’s surprise, no one asks about him and Richie. No one asks about the wishing process, or what their relationship status is now, or how they’re planning on co-parenting. Eddie highly suspects Richie already told them, and he can’t quite decide whether he’s mad at him for it or not. On one hand, it is nice to not have to address those questions, to see the look of pity on everyone’s faces when he explains the situation. On the other hand, Eddie imagines Richie telling the group, _Nah, me and Eds are just friends! He’s like a little brother to me,_ and immediately wants to die. 

Eddie, Stan, and Patty are right in the middle of a discussion of the best educational TV shows for children when Eddie feels a tap on his shoulder. He twists around to see Bev, smiling politely at the three of them. 

“Could I steal Eddie away for just a minute? I wanted to talk to him about something,” she says lightly. Oh fuck. Here it comes. He’s been avoiding Bev all night for a _very_ specific reason. 

Eddie turns to Stan and Patty, trying his best to telepathically communicate to them: _please, no, make up an excuse for me._ Of course, neither of them are telepathic, so they smile at Bev and nod easily. 

Eddie gets led away to the back porch with Bev’s hand on his arm, and he feels distinctly like she’s the grim reaper leading him to his impending doom. A little dramatic, maybe, but accurate nonetheless. 

Richie catches his eye on his way out the door, looking between him and Bev questioningly. He looks a little panicked, but Eddie isn’t sure why. He knows why _he’s_ panicking, but why would Richie be? Eddie gives him a tight smile and wave as he’s dragged out the back door. 

Here’s the thing. Eddie and Bev, for the last three months, have had a standing appointment every Friday night at a local bar. They talk about their divorces, and their spouses, and sometimes, when they get drunk enough, their parents. It had been a suggestion from Eddie’s therapist, to find someone with shared life experience to confide in. Eddie had found out fairly quickly that after thirty years, he and Bev had much more shared life experience than they had as children. 

Most recently, though, Eddie talked to Bev about Richie. It had been right after Richie came out, and Eddie got significantly more drunk than usual. He had ended up spilling everything to Bev, about his pathetic crush, about his baby fever, about how sometimes he looked at Richie and felt like he would combust on the spot. She had nodded sympathetically, doing nothing more than listening and rubbing his arm soothingly as he ranted. After an hour and a half, she had looked into his eyes and said, “Eddie. _Tell him.”_ Then she had ordered him an Uber and they parted ways. 

They hadn’t talked about it since, though not for lack of trying on Bev’s part. Eddie was just so _embarrassed,_ that his carefully kept secret had been spilled so easily. He had made the decision to lock it up even tighter, and never speak about it again. 

Now, though, there was no escaping it. Beverly was a woman on a mission. She sits down on a porch chair across from Eddie, and waits.

Eddie clears his throat. “Lovely weather we’re having,” he tries weakly. Bev raises a single, unimpressed eyebrow. 

“Look, I’m not gonna tell him,” he protests, arms folded against his chest. Bev looks contemplative. 

“I take it Richie didn’t take my advice, then,” she says simply. What the _fuck._

“Bev,” he grits out, _“what_ advice?” His mind runs with possibilities, each one worse than before. He imagines Bev calling up Richie, telling him, _look, just have pity on Eddie. You should have seen how pathetic he was, how much he talked about you._ He knows, reasonably, that Bev wouldn’t say that. She’s his friend. But, still, the thought lingers uncomfortably. 

Bev makes a noncommittal noise, shrugging delicately. “He’ll have to tell you himself.” She must see his growing panic, because she adds on, “I didn’t tell him anything, I swear. I wouldn’t do that to you, Eddie.” Eddie lets out a sigh of relief. 

Bev looks at him kindly. “Eddie, I’m really happy for you guys. You have a beautiful daughter.” Eddie senses a _but_ coming. 

“But do you really want to co-parent as _friends?”_ Eddie glares at her. He’s already made his position clear in the _tell Richie your feelings_ debate, and she’s insane if she thinks he’s changing his mind. Beverly, sensing his incoming protest, continues on quickly. “It’s not fair to him. You don’t even know what he wants.”

Eddie swallows roughly, trying to think of a rebuttal. “Plenty of people co-parent as friends,” he tries. Bev’s expression doesn’t change. 

“Yeah, but are those people you and Richie?”

Eddie looks away, considering this. “It could ruin everything,” he says quietly. His mind fills with images of Richie leaving him, of their shattered friendship, of a lifetime of strained parenting and shared custody arrangements. Bev leans forward and looks him in the eye. 

“Eddie. Richie won’t leave you. He won’t leave your daughter. He would _never.”_ She speaks forcefully, convicted.

“I know.” He fidgets uncomfortably in his seat. “But I won’t risk it, Bev.” Feeling the need to run from the conversation, he stands up abruptly and heads back inside. Immediately, Richie looks up from his conversation with Ben, and the moment he sees Eddie, his expression twists into one of concern. Eddie’s not sure what his own face looks like right now, but it can’t be good. 

“Come on, Rich, we’re leaving,” Eddie says firmly. Richie raises an eyebrow but doesn’t protest, simply picking up Valentina’s carrier and saying his goodbyes to the room. Eddie feels Bev’s presence behind him, but doesn’t acknowledge it. He feels stung, even though he knows that she’s only trying to help. It must be simple in her mind — she fell right into her fairytale romance with Ben without even trying. She probably had no problems going after what she wants. _Just tell him, Eddie._ Like it’s _easy._

Eddie says half-hearted goodbyes to the rest of the Losers, ignoring the looks of concern they give him in return. He holds onto Richie’s arm and they head out to the car, Valentina in tow.

Eddie watches the night sky from the passenger side window of Richie’s sports car, and very firmly doesn’t think about anything at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who put angst in my fic :( Not me, that’s for sure. I just watched in horror as my fingers typed the last scene without my permission :,( Anyways our man Richard needs to MAKE A MOVE already but he’s too busy suffering from dumbass disease. Please pray for him, it might be fatal.  
> If you enjoyed this chapter be sure to give kudos and comment your thoughts! A huge thank you to everyone who’s already commented and given positive feedback, yall are the sweetest and ily all.
> 
> \- H❤️


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit hits the fan.

Richie glances over at Eddie for what must be the thirtieth time in the past minute. Eddie’s currently scrunched up against the passenger side door, chin in his hands and a faintly pissed-off look on his face. Actually, if Richie’s being accurate, it’s more like a mix between pissed off and on the verge of tears. Needless to say, it’s not a look Richie sees on him very often. 

Richie swallows hard and looks back at the road. He goes over the course of events again in his head. Yesterday, Bev had called him and told him to confess his feelings to Eddie. He hadn’t, and she knew that. Tonight, Bev and Eddie had gone out to the back porch and talked for almost ten minutes. Eddie had come back pissed.

Now, Richie’s no genius, but even he can put together those context clues. 

He tries not to panic. Okay, so Bev had told Eddie his secret. Richie’s more than a little angry about that, but he’ll deal with it later. Right now, he had the much more pressing issue of what the fuck he was going to say to Eddie. 

He had thought, from what Bev suggested, _maybe_ Eddie had returned his feelings. Or at the very least, was attracted to some miniscule quality of Richie’s, to the point where he had projected his idea of an ideal partner on him, just for a second. 

Obviously, Richie had been wrong, and Bev was a filthy liar. 

Eddie didn’t look happy. He didn’t even look like he was vaguely considering the idea of being with Richie. He looked like he was _mad_ about Richie being in love with him, and on a deeper level, like he was hurt. Betrayed. 

Richie can’t blame him. It must be a hell of a mind-fuck, to find out that your best friend since childhood had wanted to jump your bones the whole time. He glances over at Eddie, trying to gauge his emotional state. Richie likes to think he knows all of Eddie’s faces — when he’s mad, when he’s upset, when he’s playfully sarcastic in that way that Richie loves. 

He can’t quite figure out Eddie’s face right now. 

Richie considers texting Bev, asking her what exactly she told Eddie. He doesn’t like the idea of going in blind, of apologizing for the last thirty years of unrequited love if all Bev had said was _‘oh, hey, Richie kind of likes you.’_ His hand hovers over his phone, but he decides against it. He doesn’t quite have the energy to deal with her right now, doesn’t even know what he’d say. Plus, Eddie would get even angrier if Richie started texting while driving. And Richie _really_ doesn’t want to make Eddie any angrier. 

They arrive back at Eddie’s house, and for a second they just sit in the car, unmoving. The world feels unbalanced, fragile. Like it’ll break if they do so much as breathe. 

Richie spares another look at Eddie, and feels his heart drop into his stomach. Eddie looks like he could fucking murder someone with sheer anger alone. He looks like he could face Pennywise again right now and not even break a sweat. 

Eventually, Richie twists around to get Valentina from her car seat. She’s sleeping soundly, thumb partially in her mouth. Eddie glances over at her, and his expression softens out a little. He uncurls from his position against the car door, reaching out a hand to gently take her thumb out of her mouth. 

“I’ll put her to bed,” Richie whispers, already getting out of the car. He’s scared that if he talks any louder, his voice will crack. 

Eddie nods silently and exits the car, starting towards the house without looking back. Richie watches him for a second, allowing himself just one long glance before following. It might be the last time he ever sees him, if tonight doesn’t go well. Not that it’s going well so far, that is. Richie doesn’t think that Eddie being pissed over his feelings for him is exactly the definition of ‘going well.’

Richie tries to calm himself down. They have a _baby_ together. Surely Eddie would let him visit her every once and a while? There’s the Losers Club gatherings, too. Richie doesn’t think he’ll be kicked out for this. At the very least, he’ll become weirdly estranged from the group as he makes everyone uncomfortable with his pining, and he’ll only be invited to hang out with everyone on special occasions and holidays. He and Eddie can take separate sides of the room, even, so Eddie doesn’t have to talk to him. Bev might still talk to him, at least. She fucking better, since she was the one who started this whole mess. 

Richie watches Eddie storm into the bedroom _(their bedroom,_ but not for much longer) and tries to resign himself to only seeing Eddie at child-drop offs and holidays. Like they’re a fucking divorced couple, or something, even though they never even dated. 

Richie gently tucks Valentina into her crib and tries to commit her features to memory. “I love you, sweetheart,” he whispers in her ear, trying not to cry. He tries not to think that this might be the last time he sees her in a long time, that Eddie might not want to let him near his daughter after this. 

He walks into the bedroom with the distinct feeling of a man about to meet his doom. He tries to think of what he’s going to say, but he can’t think of anything past, _I’m sorry that I love you so much._ This is important, though. Maybe if he doesn’t fuck it up too bad, he and Eddie can still be friendly after this. Acquaintances, even. 

The lights are already off in Eddie’s bedroom, and there’s a distinctly Eddie-shaped lump under the covers. Richie’s heart pounds at how fucking cute it is, before he pulls himself together. _This isn’t the time,_ he reminds himself sternly. 

“Eddie?” he says cautiously. Richie knows he’s not asleep, his breathing is too fast. Eddie looks distinctly like he did when he was thirteen and would pretend to be asleep when his mom came to check on him during their sleepovers, bunched up under the covers and trying not to breathe too loudly. 

Sure enough, “Go to sleep, Rich. I don’t feel like talking,” comes from the direction of the Eddie-shaped lump. 

Richie’s a little surprised that Eddie’s being so avoidant about this. Usually his reaction to conflict is to fight, words coming out with a fury and speed that’s unmatched by anyone else. Richie guesses he’s just shocked, and he’ll be yelling at him once he processes. 

_Be brave, Richie._ It sounds distinctly like Bev’s voice. 

He sits gingerly on the edge of the bed. “I think we should talk, Eds.” He winces as soon as it’s out of his mouth, certain the nickname won’t be appreciated right now. It’s not appreciated even when Eddie _isn’t_ mad at him. 

Surprisingly enough, Eddie doesn’t fight it. Instead, he pulls the blanket away from his face. There’s a little furrow between his eyebrows. “Talk about what, Rich?”

Richie instantly feels better at the nickname. It’s a clear sign that Eddie isn’t as mad as he thought he was. Even if he does want to avoid the conversation. It’s obvious he wants to pretend nothing is wrong, and usually Richie would be all for that, but—

 _Be brave be brave bebrave,_ “We should talk about what Bev said, Eds,” he says quietly. Eddie blinks once, then sits up straight, the blankets falling away from him. He’s looking at Richie with a barely-concealed expression of shock. 

“Were you— listening to us? You heard what she said?” The words come out rushed, panicked. 

Richie takes a deep breath. “No. But she called me yesterday, and I have a pretty good idea of what you guys talked about.” Eddie seems to grow more panicked the more he talks, and Richie struggles to remember what he wanted to say in the first place. 

“I’m sorry—” they both start at the same time. Then stop. Eddie looks at Richie like he’s insane. 

“What are _you_ sorry for?” Richie feels like he’s rapidly losing his grip of the conversation. What is _he_ sorry for? What is Eddie _talking_ about? Richie blinks at Eddie, trying to get his words back. 

“Um. What are _you_ sorry for?” He shoots back weakly. Eddie doesn’t look angry anymore, or panicked. He just looks confused. 

“Richie,” Eddie says slowly, “What did you think Bev and I talked about?” Richie realizes, with dawning horror, that he’s read the situation entirely wrong. Fuck. He takes a moment to breathe a sigh of relief that Eddie isn’t mad at him, doesn’t know how he feels about him. Now he has a whole new set of problems to deal with, though. Eddie looks at him with bewilderment.

Richie frantically tries to backpedal. “Nothing. I mean, _something,_ but I was obviously wrong. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just sleep.” With every word, Richie feels more and more that he’s digging his own grave. 

Eddie squints at him, eyes narrowed. “Bev said—” he cuts off. Spots of color rise to his cheeks, and Richie takes a second to stare in fascination. “Well, Bev said a lot of things. But she said that she gave you some advice. And you didn’t take it.” 

Richie takes a moment to send distinctly unhappy thoughts towards Bev. Even though she wasn’t as much of a traitor as he originally thought, she obviously couldn’t be trusted to keep a secret if her life depended on it. 

Eddie looks up at him, eyes shining in the dark. “What did she say, Richie?” Richie thinks about making something up, but he’s struck by how _hopeful_ he looks. Eddie looks like his whole life is depending on what Richie’s about to say. 

Richie takes a second to think. He goes over the timeline of events again, and tries to look at it from an objective point of view. Eddie wished for a baby with Richie. Drunk or not, projected fantasies or not, that _happened._ Eddie had to wish, very strongly and _very_ specifically, for a baby with Richie. 

Eddie and Beverly went out for drinks once a week and confided in each other. Bev knew something about Eddie that Richie didn’t. Bev called Richie and encouraged him to tell Eddie how he felt. Bev and Eddie talked. Eddie had come away looking panicked. Upset. Eddie had _apologized_ when he thought Richie was confronting him about his conversation with Bev. 

Richie thinks, in a rare moment of clarity, that he must be the biggest fucking idiot in the world. 

Richie swallows hard. He owes it to Eddie, if Eddie’s feelings are even a _fraction_ as strong as his own, to tell him the truth. But how does he even begin to explain? How does he sum up this overwhelming _thing_ that he’s felt for his whole life? How does he say, _I loved you before I knew what love was, I always wanted you by my side, I looked for you in everyone I ever dated, but they never compared, I never want to let you go ever again?_

Richie guesses he could just say that. He would probably throw up before even getting two words out, though. He eyes the trash can next to Eddie’s bed, and subtly nudges it closer to him with his foot. Just in case. 

Instead of saying that, though, or answering Eddie’s original question, Richie just says the words as they come to him. “I carved our initials on the Kissing Bridge, when I was thirteen.” He hears a sharp, shocked inhalation from Eddie, but he keeps going. If he looks at Eddie, he’ll stop talking, and he needs to get it all out. 

“When I was sixteen, I wished for a baby with you. Nevermind that I didn’t know the first thing about raising a baby, or starting a family. I just knew I wanted that experience with you.” Richie’s faintly aware of Eddie’s hand on his leg, and he grabs it thankfully, grounding himself. 

“When we were eighteen, I forged your application to UCLA. You got in, but by the time your letter came, your mom had already taken you out of Derry.” Richie feels himself tearing up, and he takes off his glasses to wipe his eyes. Eddie’s hand is shaking where it grips Richie’s. “I was so upset,” he continues, breath hitching. “I tried to follow you to New York but my parents wouldn’t let me, they ripped up my plane ticket once they found it.”

Richie takes a deep breath, steeling himself to keep going. _Eddie deserves the truth._ “All the time in between didn’t even matter. It felt like something was missing, like a big chunk of me was gone. I drank, and I partied, and I almost overdosed a few times but I got lucky. I told jokes that weren’t funny, and I let my manager push me into the closet, and I lived without really _living.”_ Richie hears someone crying, and he realizes belatedly that it’s him. 

“And then I saw you again.” Richie scrounges up the courage to look at Eddie. He’s crying just as hard, his own hand locked tightly with Richie’s. “And everything just— felt right again. I felt like I could _breathe._ You know?”

Eddie’s nodding frantically, wiping his tears with his free hand. “Yeah Rich, I know, _fuck.”_ He looks at Richie, eyes shining, and Richie thinks that he’s never looked more beautiful than he does in this moment, right now. 

“I love you, you idiot,” Eddie says, laughing wetly. “I love you so much, oh my _God.”_ They’re instantly the best words Richie’s ever heard. Before Richie can even take a second to process, Eddie’s diving forward to kiss him, hands roaming everywhere like he’s fucking desperate to touch him, like he’s been holding himself back this whole time. He probably fucking has. Richie laughs against his lips, pulling back to rest their foreheads together. 

“You stole my finale, you jerk,” Richie mumbles, smiling. Eddie laughs, short and sweet. 

“Oh my God, you’re the _worst,”_ he manages, not looking like he means it in the slightest. Eddie goes back in to kiss him, all fire and passion, a clash of tongues and teeth. Eddie kisses like he talks. Fast, rough, and taking no goddamn prisoners. 

“Eddie,” Richie realizes, pulling back desperately. “I love you too, sweetheart.” He can’t believe after all that, he forgot to say it. It was the whole point of his speech, and he almost forgot. 

Eddie reaches down and takes his hand, smile taking up his whole face as he entangles their fingers. “I know, Rich.” He goes in for another kiss, long and lingering. Richie feels like the luckiest guy in the world. 

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tl;dr: Richie assumes that Eddie and Bev’s conversation from the last chapter was about Richie’s feelings for Eddie. He thinks Eddie’s mad at him and tries to apologize, but quickly realizes he read the situation wrong.
> 
> I hope you guys liked it!! I considered dragging it out a little longer, but thought that would just be mean lol. I know this chapter is a little short, but I’ll be making up for it with a long ass epilogue don’t worry. Remember to give kudos and comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> -H


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the grand finale!

Eddie wakes up, and his first thought is that he had a  _ really _ good dream last night. His second thought is that it’s really unusually warm in his bed. He looks over to investigate, and finds the source of the warmth: Richie, limbs spread out on the bed, face buried in the dip between Eddie’s shoulder and neck. He’s passed out, and Eddie just lies still for a second to feel the swell of his breathing against his neck. Okay, so this is happening. 

Eddie turns in the bed to face Richie, and just watches him for a moment. He looks peaceful, settled in his skin in a way that he never quite is when awake.  _ I can have this now,  _ Eddie reminds himself.  _ Richie loves me. This is real.  _ He runs a hand down Richie’s arm, stopping to tangle their fingers together. “Rich,” he whispers, not really wanting to break the quiet of the morning, but knowing they have to wake up to feed Valentina. 

Richie slowly blinks awake, smiling when he sees Eddie. Eddie’s breath catches at his expression: pure, open fondness and affection. He’s not trying to hide it. “Good morning, my gorgeous plate of Spaghetti,” Richie murmurs, grinning. Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“We really have to work on your pet names, idiot.”

Richie nods sagely. “Oh, will you be teaching me, Professor Kaspbrack?” He leans forward to kiss Eddie’s neck, and he suppresses a shiver. “Yes, I also think  _ ‘idiot’  _ is the superior term to show affection to a loved one.” Eddie smacks him lightly on the shoulder, trying to hide his grin. Richie leans in for a kiss, and Eddie presses a hand to his chest to stop him. 

“Brush your fucking teeth, Rich. Don’t even  _ think _ about kissing me with your gross morning breath.” Richie sneaks a kiss anyways before heading off to the bathroom, and Eddie can’t quite find it in himself to be mad. 

After grinning dopily at the ceiling like an idiot for a few minutes, Eddie resolves to pull himself together, and ventures into the living room to check on Valentina. She’s already awake in her crib, gazing wide-eyed at her surroundings. “Good morning, honey,” Eddie says softly, taking out a fresh diaper for her and getting to work. She blinks slowly at him in return. 

“Did you have a good night, too?” Eddie asks her, taking her small cooing noise as an answer. “Oh,  _ really?” _ He pretends to nod as she makes some more typical baby noises, and starts to chew on her thumb. “Wow. You’ll have to tell me all about it.” 

Eddie hears a noise from behind him, and he turns around to see Richie leaning against the doorframe, watching them fondly. He looks up, looking slightly caught out when he meets Eddie’s eyes. “Teeth brushed,” he says hopefully, and Eddie walks over to kiss him soundly. He tastes the minty aftertaste of Richie’s toothpaste, and smiles into the kiss. He follows Richie into the kitchen, where he sets about to warming Valentina’s milk. 

“You know, we should probably call Bev and thank her,” Richie says off-handedly. “She pretty much single-handedly threw us out of the friend-zone.”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, we probably would have stayed there forever. God, I really should apologize, I was so mad at her last night.”

Richie eyes him cautiously. “So, you gonna tell me what that was about, or—” 

Eddie groans, rubbing at his temples. “Basically, I got super drunk a few weeks ago and went on this big long gushy rant about you.” He studiously avoids Richie’s eye, already feeling the blush coming to his cheeks. “Bev’s been on me about it ever since, and she was coming on especially strong last night. I got fed up.”

Richie nods. “Same here, basically. Except for the ranting part.” He’s grinning, eyeing Eddie amusedly. “Do you think she got it on video?”

Eddie blushes even harder. “God, I hope not. It was fucking embarrassing.”

Richie comes over to stand behind Eddie, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing his shoulder. Eddie lets his head fall back onto Richie’s chest, feeling almost giddy with the affection. “Eds,” Richie says softly. “However embarrassing and mushy you think your feelings are— I’m right here with you. If we had a competition, I would probably win.”

Eddie smiles, turning around to kiss Richie. “Hmm, I don’t know about that,” he says teasingly, still fighting the color in his cheeks. 

Richie raises an eyebrow. “You  _ did  _ hear all the stuff I said last night, right? You didn’t, like, zone out half-way through and fall asleep with your eyes open?” 

Eddie swallows hard, remembering Richie’s tender words from last night. He had talked about Eddie so reverently, as if he was someone to be revered, to be treasured. Eddie had known without a doubt that Richie had been holding this close to his chest for most of his life, just as Eddie himself had done. 

Eddie reaches down and takes Richie’s hand. “I heard you, Rich. I’m just saying, I’m in the same boat.” Eddie stares off into the distance for a second, trying to remember a detail of his teenage pining that wasn’t  _ too  _ excruciating embarrassing. He can’t think of much, and settles for a mild embarrassment. “When I was sixteen— I made you a mixtape.” Richie raises his eyebrows, encouraging him on. “It had a whole bunch of sappy love songs on it, and I never worked up the courage to give them to you.”

Richie smiles softly at him. “What did you call it?” he probes curiously.

Eddie blushes. “It’s dumb, okay—”

“Well, now I  _ have _ to hear it.”

Eddie closes his eyes, not wanting to look at Richie. “Um, it was called  _ Love Songs for my Love.” _ When he peeks an eye open, Richie’s looking down at him, eyes shining. 

_ “Honey,” _ he chokes out, pulling Eddie in tighter to his own body. “That’s so dumb, oh my God, I love it. I love  _ you.” _

Eddie swallows hard. “I love you too, Rich. You’re not alone in this. You never were.” He wraps his arms around Richie’s neck, pulling him into a firm hug. Richie seems a little choked up, sniffling into the silence. 

Right on time, the alarm beeps for Valentina’s milk. Eddie grabs it and helps her drink it, cradling her in his left arm. He looks up at Richie. 

“Richie, I wished for a baby with you. I wished for exactly what we have now. A family.” Richie kisses the top of his head, then does the same to Valentina. 

“I have everything I ever wanted, right here,” Richie says quietly. It’s an answer in itself, to a question Eddie hadn’t even known he was asking.  _ Are we a family? Is this what you want, too? _

Eddie couldn’t be more relieved that the answer to those questions is a big, resounding  _ yes.  _ He wants to scream at the top of his lungs, he wants to shout from the rooftops, he wants to go to his mother and Myra and even Pennywise the fucking clown just to tell them,  _ Richie loves me back.  _ He’s so full with it he could burst. 

As it is, Eddie kisses Richie soundly on the lips (because that’s a thing he can  _ do  _ now) and settles down at the table to eat breakfast, which consists of leftover pancakes from the day before. He thinks back to his domestic, morning-after fantasies starring Richie. He realizes that’s something that’s actually attainable, now, and decides to go for it. 

“So.” Eddie swallows hard, his throat suddenly inexplicably dry. “Um. Did you have any plans today?” He coughs. “H-honey.” It comes out as nothing more than a whisper. Definitely not as smooth as he had hoped. 

Richie stares at him bemusedly for a few moments.

“Wow. Did that hurt to get out, Eds? Do you need some water to wash that down?” He leans forward and rests his chin in his hands, eyes bright and mischievous. “Is this my first lesson in the Dr. Kaspbrak school of pet names?” Richie mimes writing studiously in an imaginary notebook. “I’ve gotta say, Doc, I’m really learning a lot. Lesson One— ‘Sound like you’re dying while addressing your partner fondly.’ Ah, I see now.”

Eddie leans over the table to whack him on the arm. “You are  _ such  _ an ass, Richie.” Richie raises his eyebrows and nods faux-seriously. 

“Oh, is  _ that  _ what I am? Not good enough for ‘honey’ anymore, huh?” 

Eddie scowls at him. “Your nickname privileges have been revoked.”

Richie pouts, dragging a finger down his cheek to represent a tear. “But  _ Eddie,  _ you know I hate being called Richard.”

Eddie feels the corner of his mouth start to turn up, and he fights valiantly to keep it down. “Well, you’ll have to get used to it.” He pauses, considering.  _ “Richard.” _

Richie goes absolutely feral, cracking up so hard that he starts making little snorting noises in between laughs. Eddie laughs with him, and pictures his little domestic morning fantasy going up in smoke. He looks at Richie, mouth wide open in hysterical laughter, and the leftover pancakes from Uber Eats that had resulted from Richie’s disastrous attempt at cooking. Eddie looks at Valentina, eyes wide in curiosity and wonder. 

He thinks he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

***

There is, of course, actual business to attend to that day, and Richie and Eddie can’t just stay in a little domestic bubble in their kitchen forever (as much as Eddie would like to). Eddie quickly determines that Valentina is going through her milk formula at a frankly alarming rate, and they're going to need to get more if they don’t want her to starve. Richie proposes a family trip to the store, and Eddie agrees (and  _ not _ just because the words ‘family trip’ made him feel all soft inside, okay). 

They bundle Valentina up in her little jacket and blanket and head out to the nearest grocery store, which is, of course, a Whole Foods, because they live in fucking LA. Eddie tries, and fails, not to sneak glances at Richie during the car ride (only because Richie’s big hands spread out on the steering wheel are  _ doing things _ to him). When Richie notices, he just smiles at Eddie and reaches a hand out to grip Eddie’s thigh, gently stroking with his thumb (which, fuck, only makes Eddie’s problem about ten times worse). 

But finally, after a truly uncomfortable car ride for Eddie and his pants, they arrive at Whole Foods. Eddie takes a second to calm down, aggressively picturing Pennywise in a dress, before settling into Focused Eddie. An Eddie that can go into the store and come out with the items he needs. A man on a mission, so to say. 

It’s only because of this mindset, and Eddie’s lingering arousal that he desperately needs to get rid of, that he agrees to split up while Richie takes Valentina into the bread aisle. Eddie power walks into the baby food section and tries to think very unsexy thoughts. Focused Eddie, coming right up. 

After looking carefully over the nutrition labels, he picks out three cases of baby formula, feeling quite accomplished. He’s almost excited to return to Richie and Valentina, to show them his findings. He feels ridiculous thinking it, though, like he’s a caveman from the Neolithic Age trying to show off how he can provide for his family. On that note, Eddie tucks the cases under his arm and begins the journey back to the bread aisle, with only a small amount of embarrassment. 

He sees someone else before he sees Richie. This in itself isn’t entirely unusual, as there’s a multitude of other customers wandering the store. What  _ is  _ unusual, though, is that  _ this  _ customer is right up in Richie’s personal space, leaning an arm on the shelves next to him and smiling swarmily. Richie’s eyes dart to Eddie, and in that moment Eddie can read a clear look of discomfort and panic on Richie’s face. Eddie likes to think he knows Richie’s face pretty well, and right now it’s pretty clearly saying  _ please fucking help me.  _

Okay,  _ fuck  _ Focused Eddie. Caveman Eddie is coming out in full force. He power-walks over to Richie in quick, purposeful steps, inserting himself under his arm and kissing him on the cheek. “Hey, babe,” he says, glaring daggers at the man next to them. “I got the baby formula. For our  _ baby.” _ He pointedly looks over to Valentina, who’s sitting peacefully in her carrier, which is in their shopping cart. Eddie carefully reaches over to set the formula cases down next to her in the cart, and her head lolls over to look at them. 

Eddie looks back to Richie. “Who’s this?” He asks, not even looking at the man in question. He snuggles in closer to Richie’s side, securing his arm a little more securely around his waist. Richie looks at him in amusement, but tightens his arm around him easily. 

“Just a fan, honey,” he says casually. The  _ fan,  _ who’s been looking more and more mortified by the second, waves awkwardly. 

“Yeah, um, I’ve seen some of Richie’s stuff on Netflix. He’s really good— You’re really good,” he says, half to Eddie and half to Richie, voice lifting up at the end. 

“Thanks, man,” Richie responds. Eddie just continues to glare, hoping that he can glare the man right out of existence. 

The guy does, to his credit, look properly chastised. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were — um. Seeing someone,” he says awkwardly, looking nervously at Eddie. 

“Well, he is,” Eddie says firmly, glaring some more. 

The guy actually takes a few steps back, holding his hands up placatingly. “Right. I’ll just—” With one last look at Eddie, he books it out of the aisle, practically tripping over himself in his hurry to leave. Eddie scowls at him as he goes. 

“Who the fuck hits on someone with a  _ baby,” _ Eddie starts angrily, before he’s interrupted by the frantic press of Richie’s lips against his. Eddie kisses back enthusiastically for a few seconds, before pulling back. “Richie, what—”

Richie looks at him with the most passion Eddie’s seen from him, probably  _ ever.  _ His pupils are dilated slightly, laser-focused on Eddie’s lips. “Baby, that was  _ so  _ fucking hot.” Eddie pants roughly for a second, hard-on from earlier coming back in full force. 

“Oh,” he says intelligently. 

Eddie and Richie rush to the check out line and out of the store before they can make a fucking scene in the middle of their local Whole Foods and be asked to leave and never return. 

They only break a  _ few _ traffic laws on the way home.

***

Eddie’s still in bed, head pillowed on Richie’s chest, when he realizes that they still need to tell their friends. Their friends, most of whom don’t even know that Eddie’s gay. Fuck. 

He says as much to Richie, who in turn doesn’t look very concerned. “Let’s just facetime them,” he suggests easily. Eddie gives him a Look. 

“Right now, Rich?” Richie shrugs, and Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’re in bed, Richie. We’re  _ naked.” _

Richie nods, like this is perfectly acceptable. “Exactly. They’ll know what’s up right away. We won’t even have to say anything.”

Eddie stares at him in hopeless resignation. “Wh— Richie,  _ no.” _

In the end, he bargains for clothes, but they do still end up in bed. Eddie watches Richie hit the facetime button with nervous anticipation. 

Bev picks up the call first, joined by Ben in the same square. Her mouth falls open. “Oh my  _ God,  _ you two totally just fucked.” Ben turns to her, mouth set in a small frown. 

_ “Bev,  _ be nice.”

The others, who joined the call almost immediately after Bev, erupt into a chorus of shouts and questions. Only Bill goes completely silent, turning off his camera briefly to do something on his phone. 

A few seconds later, Stan snorts in amusement. “Did you just venmo me fifty bucks?”

Bill, camera back on, rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” He looks accusingly at Richie and Eddie. “You guys really couldn’t have waited until after Christmas?”

Eddie stares back, mouth open in shock. He tries to speak, but finds that he’s at a loss for words. Richie rubs his back comfortingly. 

The Losers descend into good-natured bickering, seemingly over the bet and who owes who money. Richie clears his throat. “Guys, Eddie had something he wanted to say.” He has to raise his voice to be heard over the arguing, but the Losers obligingly fall silent. 

Eddie squirms a little bit under the attention. “Um. I’m— well first of all, I’m gay. And second of all, I’m dating Richie.” He takes in their little facetime square on Richie’s phone, with Eddie’s messed up sex hair, Richie’s arm around him, and the bedsheets behind them. “Obviously.”

The Losers all smile, giving their approval, and in Mike’s case, a very serious-sounding,  _ thank you for telling us,  _ before returning to their previous conversation easily. Eddie relaxes into the pillows. There. Conversation over, and the world didn’t even end. He smiles up at Richie, who in turn presses a kiss onto the top of his head. 

He turns back to the facetime call, where Bev is clearing her throat. Oh, that reminds him. “Bev,” he says quietly. “Expect a fruit basket to come in the mail in the next seven to ten business days.” Bev laughs, startled, and Richie turns to look at him. 

“Babe, did you order her a fucking Edible Arrangement?” He’s biting his lip to control his laughter, but Eddie can tell it’s about to spill out. 

Eddie frowns. “It seemed appropriate,” he says primly, and Richie’s laughter breaks free. Eddie rolls his eyes. “Anyways, Bev, what were you going to say?” he says, trying desperately to redirect the conversation away from him and his embarrassing Edible Arrangement situation. 

She chuckles. “Well, I was going to say that it’s actually good that everyone’s here together.” Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Ben and I have something to tell you,” she continues, looking at Ben with a smile. 

Fuck, Eddie  _ called  _ it. He’s suddenly remorseful that he didn’t get in on betting himself. 

Ben’s grin takes up his whole face. “Well, Beverly took the test today and—”

“We’re expecting!” They say together, showing them the positive test. 

The Losers erupt into congratulations, Eddie and Richie among them. 

Eddie looks around at his friends. Beverly and Ben, with their unborn child, and Eddie and Richie with their new baby. Stan and Patty with little Lucas. Bill and Mike, who were well on their way to starting families of their own.  _ This is my family,  _ Eddie thinks to himself. He looks at Richie next to him, laughing at a joke Stan told. He thinks of Valentina, sleeping soundly one room over, and all the experiences yet to come as she grows up. 

_ This is my family, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end!! fun fact: the supermarket scene was the very first thing i thought of when writing this fic, and i had it in mind almost the entire time. something about jealous eddie just gets me going, idk why. i hope the fade to black sex didn’t make yall too mad? but consider this: i’m a fucking coward. and also lazy.
> 
> will there be a drabble in the future featuring Tina as a toddler and the Benverly baby?? Depends, but signs point to yes.
> 
> I hope yall liked it! Leave your thoughts below and be sure to check out my other fics!
> 
> -H❤️


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